


Even Longer

by guccistark



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Acephobia, Angst, Asexual Bucky Barnes, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, i really just needed some asexual Bucky, kinda? not really??, mostly just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:38:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guccistark/pseuds/guccistark
Summary: Bucky and Steve have been together for years. They love each other so much. But they've still never made love to each other. Bucky wonders why.





	Even Longer

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first completed (and published) fic ever, and I really just needed to write some asexual Bucky, so I did.

Back before the war, Bucky remembers, they would never stop touching each other. He recalls the day when it all started, in ‘36. They’d been friends for fourteen years by then, having met when Bucky was only five and Steve was three, almost four.

The issue was that, no matter how much they avoided the topic verbally, they were always more than friends in their own, unspoken way. Without thought, they had always been ok with cuddling in bed, hugging, holding one another.

They even had their first kiss together. Steve had used the excuse that he was nervous for his date with a girl - who conveniently wasn’t able to meet Bucky before moving away the day after the supposed date - and so they practiced together. Bucky hadn’t told him specifically that it was his first kiss, too, but he was fairly certain that he knew.

Kissing wasn’t common between them at first, not even close. But on the rare occasion that they found their lips pressed together, they never jolted away or hurriedly rushed to find an excuse. By the time they were both adults, it was just second nature to them; when Bucky was cooking dinner in their too-small kitchen, Steve would kiss the back of his neck, and when Steve was focused on drawing, his tongue poking out between his lips, Bucky would kiss him, soft and sweet.

He remembers basically everything, from that first kiss in ‘33 to that jaw-dropping day in ‘36 when, for some unknown reason, he decided to address their unusual affection. He had known at the time that he felt about Steve in the way that he was supposed to feel about pretty girls. The sixty-four-thousand dollar question was if those feelings were mutual, or if Bucky was about to make a fool of himself and destroy the most valuable friendship he had ever know.

The first thing he said was relatively vague, broad enough to be brushed off but still specific enough to leave no room for confusion. He vividly remembers the tremble in his voice as he had asked, “Do you think other fellas kiss their friends?”

Steve had glanced up at him above his coffee mug with a crease in his brows, head cocking when he lowered the ceramic to the wooden table in front of him. He had replied with a confused, “Do you think it matters?” Bucky had given a small smile about that, hiding his nerves like he had grown so accustomed to.

The conversation went on for hours, and to this day he thinks he may have never been as uncomfortable as he was during it. In the end, though, Steve had been the first to drop his mask and admit that, yes, the reason he kissed Bucky was because his feelings weren’t as platonic as he pretended.

Bucky’d been elated; the guy he had loved for as long as he could remember had just told him that he was interested in him. He remembers that he felt like he was flying, like his world would never be dark again - he knows now that he was very, very wrong about that - and that they had agreed to go steady.

After that, they were always touching somehow. Whether it was an arm over the shoulder, or a kiss snuck when nobody’s around to see, or Steve’s chest pressed to Bucky’s back, or even just fingertips brushing as they sat too close in the movie theater. There was always that touch, grounding him, making his heart burst at the seams.

He hasn’t remembered everything yet. He remembers enough of it to finally understand why Steve had been so tense around him when he first came back. He remembers enough to know that he wants to feel that unadulterated adoration and bliss again, roll around in it like a warm blanket and never let it go.

But there’s one thing he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember a time they ever had sex. He’s sure that he should remember it. He just… doesn’t.

He thinks that he would remember that by now: the feeling of Steve inside him, splitting him open. Or perhaps it would be the memory of him inside of Steve, their bodies attached in the most intimate of ways.

But when he tries to call upon that memory, he finds nothing.

There are plenty of memories in which it _almost_ happened. So many memories where Steve had been grinding against him, but he just pulled away, finding an excuse as to why they shouldn’t.

Part of him is disappointed.

Whenever he observes people, observes what society thinks on love and intimacy, he notices that one of the most important parts of a relationship seems to be sexual activity. In fact, people call it ‘making love’ because it’s such an integral part of - well - love.

Which is why he wants to remember it. Because how could he love Steve but not make love to him?

He hasn’t asked Steve, of course. He’s not sure if he should, but he knows he’d rather not. Some part of him, in the back of his mind, tells him that that’s a stone best left unturned for the time being.

So he’s left to handle the confusion on his own. He’s done everything to try to remember, even going as far as to touch himself when he’s alone in a hopeless attempt to bring those memories to life. He only ever ends up disappointed, though, when his body hardly reacts and his mind only shows the times in which Steve had been rejected by Bucky’s past self.

The thing is, he isn’t as human as he once was. He’s not fully sure what happened to him in HYDRA - most of those memories have yet to come to him - but he knows that it changed him psychologically.

Which leaves him to analyze the behavioral patterns of other people. However they act is how he assumes he is meant to act. If the people on the television screen are intent on having sex to prove their love, then he knows that he’s meant to be the same way.

That only leaves him feeling guilty, though, when he sits in the shower for over an hour trying to work himself up, trying to imagine Steve between his legs. The thought of it leaves him feeling wrong, sinful. It puts a bad taste in his mouth, which makes him wonder why he can’t seem to do this.

He loves Steve, or so he thinks. But he’s learned, from his time observing the world, that in order to love Steve, he needs to _want_ Steve. He has to be able to think of his boyfriend between his legs, licking at his most private of areas with a cocky smirk, if he loves him.

Guilt fills him every time he thinks of it, because he tells Steve he loves him, he kisses him and touches him and bathes in the warmth that Steve’s body provides him. But how could his words be genuine when he can’t even imagine a world where the thought of sex with Steve makes him grow hard?

He can’t love Steve if he can’t _want Steve_ , so he feels like a traitor with every whispered ‘I love you’ and every light kiss. His heart sinks when Steve falls asleep next to him, because he’s a liar. The worst kind of liar, too, because he doesn’t know much about people, but he knows that pretending to be in love is the cruelest of falsehoods.

And then, Steve tried to have sex with him again. Bucky had no clue how to react. The obvious option for anyone else would be to accept, to push him onto the bed and have him, right there. Make him moan Bucky’s name and fog over his mind with pure pleasure. But no matter how hard he tried to make himself do that, he couldn’t. He had tried to grind against the thigh perched between his legs, but it felt _wrong_.

It felt like a lie.

So he had to find an excuse. He had told Steve that his arm was hurting, that he had to go have Tony look at it. When he ran out of the room, he felt so much self-hatred.

Steve was right there, with his thigh pushing up against Bucky’s groin, and his lips sucking little bruises into the skin on his neck, and his own crotch stabbing at Bucky’s stomach. And he just left him there.

That’s not love. People who love each other don’t avoid _making love_. That’s the whole point.

His heart itched, which didn’t make sense when he said it that way in his mind, but it was the only way to describe it. The only way he could think to explain to himself the undeniable guilt and anger taking hold of him.

He never got to Tony’s lab that night. He just sat in the elevator of the Tower, telling JARVIS not to let anyone in. Cowering in the corner, arms wrapped around himself, he cursed his groin for not cooperating.

The only thing that could have made him feel better would have been memories of sex with Steve. Because maybe then he could convince himself that it isn’t his fault, that he used to love it, that _HYDRA_ did this to him. He could explain to Steve that ever since HYDRA, he can’t seem to get his body to work right.

Those memories never came, though, and instead he was simply flooded with more times when he denied Steve what he wanted, this time joined by a night where Bucky was in a position similar to this.

He was in a shower, sat on the ground as the cold water beat down on his bare back. His head was in his knees and he was tugging at his hair as he cried. The memory includes his internal monologue, which sometimes isn’t a part of his flashbacks.

He had been crying because he had to reject Steve once more, because he didn’t feel that way about him. He didn’t feel a want for sex, and he wondered if maybe all along he had been wrong, if maybe he just saw Steve as a friend and misinterpreted his love for him as romantic interest.

Bucky, standing in the elevator, felt his heart shatter.

The thought of this all being wrong, of him never having felt like that about Steve, broke him. He wanted to run to Steve, let him hold onto him. He wanted Steve to comfort him, whisper in his ear that everything’s alright. But he couldn’t let himself do that, because he can’t lie to his Stevie.

He couldn’t face Steve and let him hold onto him and kiss him when Bucky didn’t deserve any of that.

So, he ended up sleeping in the top floor that night, the entire story empty save for the couch in the center of the room. He slept on the ground, feeling like he didn’t deserve the comfort of cushions under him in his slumber.

It’s been two weeks since that day, and he has avoided Steve at all costs. His skin begs for the sweet, warm feeling of Steve pressed against it; he wants to feel Steve everywhere. His lips tingle for that bittersweet sensation of Steve’s tongue lapping at them, wordlessly asking for more despite the fact that Bucky never provides.

Today, he’s sitting on the rooftop of the Tower, legs dangling off the edge as he watches the sunrise in the distance. Normally, he’d have dragged Steve up here with him. He loves watching the sunrise with Steve; that’s something from before HYDRA. Back in the war, he would wake Steve up at daybreak and watch the beautiful scene unfold. But it was before then, too. He always just loved it.

But now, he’s alone. He had thought about waking Steve up. He wanted to so bad, but he couldn’t do it. The thought of cuddling up to his boyfriend seems like something he just doesn’t deserve.

He’s come to the conclusion that he’s lying. Not only to Steve, but to himself. It hurts, but he’s trying to convince himself to stop lying, for Steve’s sake. Because Steve deserves someone who loves him like they should. Not Bucky, who somehow managed to convince himself that he was in love when he couldn’t even picture giving Steve a handjob, let alone making love to him.

He knows he isn’t _actually_ alone up here. He’s a highly trained assassin; he can tell when there’s someone behind him, even if they _are_ completely silent. Simply put, he doesn’t care.

It’s obviously not Steve, because even after all this time in his new body, he still hasn’t learned how to tread quietly in it. Tony would make himself known the moment he stepped out the door, making a witty comment. Thor is too social to sneak, he would have greeted Bucky by now, maybe even pulled him into a hug. Bruce sleeps in unless he needs to wake up, something about being grumpy when he doesn’t get enough sleep, which is bad news for everyone. That leaves Natasha or Clint, both of which know how to stay silent.

He knows, though, that it isn’t either of them. They walk silently off of instinct, only making noise when they’re trying to. The person behind him is being careful, calculating their moves as if trying to approach a skittish animal.

Which leaves only one person.

“Sam,” Bucky greets, already knowing exactly how this discussion will go. Sam is here, which means he knew Bucky was going to be here, which means Steve told him. Steve told Sam where Bucky is, so Steve knows where he is, but he didn’t come himself, meaning he’s hurt and doesn’t want to deal with it himself, so he sent Sam to try to coax Bucky into discussing the issue.

“Uh, hi,” Sam responds unsurely, clearly confused as to how Bucky knew he was there.

“Tell him I’m fine. I’m not avoiding him, I’ve just been… thinking,” is all he says, answering the unspoken question before Sam can even ask it.

“About that,” Sam starts, sitting next to Bucky with a friendly smile, hand coming to rest on his shoulder. A year ago, Sam would’ve asked how Bucky even knew that’s what he’s here for, but at this point he’s learned that Bucky has his ways. “I don’t think that’s gonna cut it.”

“Well, it’ll have to,” he whispers the response, mind hurting at the thought that he hurt Steve so much that he sent his friend to talk to Bucky since he couldn’t himself.

“Listen, I ain’t an expert. But I also ain’t blind. You two haven’t been doin’ too well,” Sam observes, cautiously eyeing Bucky to gauge his reaction. When Bucky continues to stare ahead, he proceeds, “And if you don’t talk to him about it, it probably won’t end well.”

Bucky’s stomach flips, throat clenching in on itself at the idea of what Sam is implying. Losing Steve. His Stevie, who’s like sunshine, who kisses him and tastes like cherries, who holds him so tight that he almost can’t breathe, because he knows that Bucky needs it, who always knows when something’s wrong because he loves him.

He’s going to lose him, is what Sam is saying.

“We’re fine,” Bucky says past the swell in his windpipe, the words scratching their way from him, and he knows it’s a lie, but he’s been lying to himself and everyone else for so long, it’d be disappointing to stop now.

“But we both know that’s not true,” Sam points out calmly, that annoying warmth in his voice as if he has any right sticking his nose in Bucky and Steve’s business just because he’s friends with the latter.

“Tell him,” Bucky breathes through gritted teeth, “that I’m fine. That we’re fine. And that I’m not going to talk about my love life with you, so he doesn’t need to be _scared_ to talk to me himself.”

Sam watches him for a moment, eyes scanning Bucky’s face as if trying to figure out what exactly he’s thinking. Forgetting Bucky’s a trained assassin, who knows how to keep his expression perfectly level and even. 

“Alright,” he shrugs, rising to his feet gracefully and looking down to Bucky. “If that’s what you want,” he says, retreating before Bucky can think of anything else to say.

Alone on the roof again, Bucky feels his eyes welling with tears. He knows it’s a lie, this is all fake, he just needs to stop telling himself the lie. But he can’t, because he might not want to feel Steve in him, but he needs Steve holding him, kissing him, telling him how much he loves him.

But Sam’s right, Bucky won’t be able to keep that unless he talks about it. He just _can’t_ , though. Because how would he explain that he doesn’t actually love Steve, that he wants Steve to keep loving him anyways, that he needs to feel Steve’s love because it makes him feel _human_ and _happy_ and _alive_?

He gives a wry laugh at himself, wondering how he even got himself into this mess. He’s not a human anymore, sure, but Bucky Barnes was, back before the war. So how did he manage to accidentally convince himself of a lie? Because he used to believe it, even back then. Back when they had their first kiss, before Steve’s fake date, he genuinely thought he was in love. Even though he didn’t want sex.

The door behind him opens, and his heart pumps faster than it has in a while when he hears the familiar thumping of Steve’s feet slamming down into the floor like a herd of elephants. He gives a smile - a sad, small smile - when he feels that warming presence beside him, the only person he allows to sit on that side of him plopping down on his left.

Steve doesn’t move to grab his hand like he usually would; he just stares. Bucky doesn’t look at him, his eyes glued to the big star rising into the sky. He wants to, skin crawling in desperation to look at those pretty ocean eyes. He resists, though, using that self control that HYDRA helpfully ingrained into his mind to keep his gaze set straight forward.

“Buck,” Steve eventually whispers, his voice filled with pain and heartbreak, and even without looking at him, Bucky knows that he’s been crying.

Steve’s been crying, and it’s his fault. Because he’s hardly touched Steve, hardly looked at him. Steve’s scared, and he knows he should fix it. He knows that he doesn’t want his Stevie hurt. But he can’t stand to lie anymore. Steve doesn’t deserve to be lied to.

“I don’t love you,” he blurts out, ripping the bandaid off and snapping his own heart in the process. He still doesn’t look, knowing now more than ever that Steve’s expression is only going to hurt him if he does.

“What? Buck, listen,” Steve says, finally scooping the metal hand into his own and pulling it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the silver palm.

Bucky fights back the urge to do something, do anything, because he knows that the moment he acts, he’s gonna take it back. Lie again.

“No. I don’t love you. I lied,” he says, carefully keeping his voice blank and his face neutral. “I never loved you,” he elaborates. He doesn’t need to see Steve to know that what he’s just said broke him. Destroyed him, even. Because Bucky feels the same.

“That’s not true,” Steve insists, and Bucky can hear in his voice that he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to get Bucky to admit it. But Bucky won’t admit it, because there’s nothing _to_ admit. He can’t love Steve, because if he’s learned anything from observing people, it’s that to love someone, you must make love to them.

It’s how love works.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I lied,” he explains, suddenly losing the control he’s been sure to keep as his voice goes small and quiet, the pain and guilt in his voice completely obvious now. “I just know I did. I-I didn’t mean to lie, if it helps,” he breathes out as his chest tenses painfully.

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice is strained, as if he’s trying to fight through a million different thoughts just to speak, which Bucky’s sure is exactly the case.

“I thought I loved you. I did. I promise, I thought I was being honest. I didn’t want to hurt you. I still don’t,” Bucky says, ignoring the broken noises coming from his boyfriend - maybe that isn’t the word for it anymore, he isn’t sure - as he continues to tear him down piece by piece. “But I realized that I was wrong. I didn’t love you, not in the way I thought I did,” he doesn’t know how to explain this, but he can tell he’s doing a bad job when Steve lets out a choked sob into the metal hand still pressing to his lips.

“This isn’t funny, baby,” Steve whispers, and Bucky knows that he’s crying. He knows, but he can’t look, can’t wipe the tears. It would hurt both of them if he did.

“I realized that I don’t love you in the way you deserve. I convinced myself I did, but I was just lying to us both. You don’t deserve that. So, uh,” he says, mouth going dry and throat closing completely before he can finish his speech.

“We-” Steve can’t even finish his sentence, voice cracking off into unintelligible sounds as his composure busts apart. He holds Bucky’s hand to his mouth, muffling the noises into the metal and screaming incomprehensibly into the palm.

Bucky just listens, watching the man he thought he loved fall apart and allowing it as if his heart isn’t splitting open with each passing wail. His spine shivers and his skin rises into goosebumps when he hears Steve say, “You said ‘til the end of the line.”

He remembers that. He remembers standing on Steve’s porch and telling him he’s with him ‘til the end of the line.

“I just-” he stops as he tries to think of how to explain this, how he could tell Steve that he loves feeling him and being held by him and being kissed by him but he doesn’t want to make love to him. “I know I get happy when you’re holding me. I feel… good. Whenever you kiss me and tell me you love me, I mean. It’s really good, Steve.”

Steve listens, hushing his screams and cries as he waits for Bucky to finish what he’s saying. His eyes stare at Bucky, and Bucky can feel his gaze where it bores a hole through his skull. He wants to pull him in and apologize, but he simply continues to try to express what he feels.

“And I thought that was love. I thought that wanting to be with you and feel you against me and touch you and kiss you was love. But, the thing is, I’ve been watching people. I wanna know how regular folks act, how I’m supposed to act. And I’ve noticed that love isn’t just wanting a life with someone.

“Love is giving yourself to someone. I can’t do that. I can’t-” he worries his bottom lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowing as he searches for the words. Slowly, he continues carefully, “I want to give myself to you. Like, uh, I _want_ to want to make love to you. But I can’t. I don’t want that. You’re beautiful, and I want to hold you and kiss you and never let you go. But sex is just… that’s different. The idea of it is just… weird.”

He finishes, quieting as his gaze drops down to the city below them, watching as it comes to life with people rushing to and from work. The view is beautiful, and he’s sure that Steve’s going to kick him out, so he’s going to miss the scenery. Not as much as he’ll miss Steve though.

“What?” is all the blonde comes back with, tone filled with pain and confusion. The knife that’s lodged itself in his chest twists, burying itself deeper and making his eyes sting as tears rise up in his throat.

“Ok, uh…” he trails off, mind searching for a way to say this without sounding insane. “So I love us. I never want anything to change, because I love when we’re kissing, and cuddling, and when you hold me while we sleep. It makes me really, uh, happy. Just I don’t want to make love to you. At all. And I’ve tried to want it, because I’m supposed to. But I can’t. So I noticed that I don’t, uh, love you. I thought I did. I really, really thought I did. But everyone I’ve talked to made it very clear that part of loving someone is wanting them, and wanting sex with them.”

Steve hiccups, meaning he’s not currently crying but he’s forced himself to stop. He pulls Bucky’s hand away from his mouth now, and Bucky feels a part of him break because this is it, this is where Steve leaves and never looks back, and he can’t blame him. It’s his own fault.

“So,” Steve says unsurely, voice cracking as more broken sounds threaten to escape his throat. “So you’re saying that you l-love when we cuddle, and you love being with me. Right?” Bucky answers with a nod, metal arm dropping to his side when Steve releases it. “But,” he starts, “you don’t want more than cuddling and kissing and stuff?” Once again, Bucky gives a nod.

They sit in silence for a moment while Steve thinks, long and hard. The wind whips across their cheeks, and Bucky can only focus on that in an attempt to keep his mind from the thoughts pushing themselves into his mind. Everything feels like too much, but still not enough as he sits, so close to Steve but unable to reach out, to touch him, to run his fingers through those golden locks, to lick his lips, to leave marks everywhere he can reach.

Back before the war, Bucky remembers, they would never stop touching each other.

But now, he can’t so much as brush his fingers along Steve’s pale knuckles, because Steve is going to leave him now. Because he hurt Steve.

His eyes drift shut, the sunrise casting a red tint over his vision as he stares at his eyelids wordlessly. He lets himself lay down on the hard ground of the rooftop, his metal arm resting over his chest and his right tangling itself in his own hair.

This is the only way he ever relaxes when he’s laying down without Steve. The metal on his chest serves as substitute for Steve’s arm holding him tight, and the hand in his hair is where Steve’s fingers always rest, scratching at his scalp soothingly.

He isn’t relaxing now, though, because he _is_ lying next to Steve, but Steve isn’t going to hold him because why would he when Bucky just hurt him?

“Is it me?” he hears Steve suddenly ask, and his heart jumps at the insecurities in his boyfriend’s - well, maybe not anymore - voice. “Am I like… not your type?”

“No, Steve,” Bucky sighs out. “I just have never really… like, I’ve never felt like that about anyone. I’ve never seen someone and thought ‘wow, I want them’ ever. I think maybe I just… maybe I wasn’t as human as I thought before, which is why HYDRA was able to get rid of the parts of me that were.”

Humming, Steve keeps his words to himself, which makes Bucky want to open his eyes and look at him and figure out what he’s thinking. Instead, he stays where he is, eyes closed and hands where Steve’s should be.

“Maybe,” Steve says after a long while, voice sounding a little more controlled now. “Maybe you have this,” he suggests, placing his phone on Bucky’s sternum slowly. “Maybe it isn’t that you don’t love me, just… you don’t do that whole… sex thing.”

Bucky opens one eye, lifting the phone to see it. “Hypoactive sexual desire disorder,” the title of the article reads. He reads on, learning that people with HSDD do not have sexual fantasies or sexual desires. It is a sexual dysfunction, and it doesn’t take away from your love towards your partner. It isn’t that you can’t love, just that you don’t want to _make_ love.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, heart fluttering at the idea that maybe he hasn’t been lying, maybe he doesn’t need to feel guilty, maybe this is something he can _fix_.

He reads the part that explains the three types, looking at their names and deciding which one most accurately applies to him. “I think maybe it’s this,” he whispers, pointing to the part that explains that generalised HSDD is where the person has little to no sexual desire and never has. “Because, like, I’ve only done that sort of stuff alone, and it was only like three times total from what I remember.”

“Alright, Buck,” Steve says softly, wiping his eyes in Bucky’s peripheral vision.

“So, uh, does that mean I’m able to love you without wanting sex?” he asks confused, finally looking at the ocean eyes with hope in his own. “Because that would make this whole thing make a lot more sense to me.”

“Of course,” Steve assures him with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Then I love you,” Bucky states, throwing himself forward and hugging Steve, face nuzzling into his side as he lets his tears run free. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know, I was just confused. I’m sorry.” He continues to give muffled apologies as Steve hesitantly runs his fingers through his long hair.

“Why did you think that you didn’t love me just ‘cause you didn’t want sex? How didn’t you know whether you loved me or not?” Steve questions, cutting Bucky off mid-apology.

He doesn’t know how to answer that. How can he answer a question with such a complicated answer?

He tries anyways.

“I thought maybe wanting to have a life with you didn’t mean I love you. Because sex means I love you, according to TV and music and books and basically everyone. And so I just felt like maybe I was using the wrong word. Maybe I couldn’t love you unless I had sex with you, and so that meant that everything I was feeling wasn’t love. It was some other emotion.”

Steve eyes him, gears almost audibly turning in his head as he works to make sense of the answer. Bucky simply sits, allowing the scrutiny and just wishing that Steve could understand. Because it would be so much easier if there was a simple word to describe all that he’s feeling, because right now the only word to portray it is ‘confused.’

“So you love me?” Bucky nods. “You just don’t want sex?” Another nod as he kisses Steve’s hip, pressing his face closer to him. He needed this. After two weeks of hardly touching him, hardly talking to him, he needed to be able to cuddle up to Steve and hide from the rest of the world.

“I’m sorry,” he says before biting his bottom lip, knowing that no amount of apologies will undo the fact that he hurt Steve. He hurt their relationship and he knows it may never be the same again.

“You should’ve talked to me. Avoiding me and telling me you don’t love me doesn’t fix anything, Bucky,” he says sternly, not a hint of anger behind it. Bucky nods understandingly, pulling himself impossibly closer to his Stevie.

They don’t say anything else, but they let the warmth of the sun encompass them as it finishes its ascent into the bright blue sky. The sky that’s not nearly as pretty as Bucky’s boyfriend, not nearly as blue as those eyes.

Eventually, Steve stands up, leaving Bucky lying on the ground as he stretches. “Let’s go. We can get you an appointment with the therapist to talk about treating it,” he says, and Bucky nods, excitedly standing up and planting a solid kiss to Steve’s soft lips. 

Bucky grabs the phone, turning it on as he follows Steve back inside. He reads more about HSDD, about what causes it, what it does. How it can be treated.

One thing catches his eye. Apparently, there are other reasons for not having sexual fantasies. One of them is highlighted, as if tapping it would link you to an article on that one. So, he clicks it, letting the browser load up a page titled, “Asexuality.”

He cocks his head as he reads it, mindlessly following Steve into the elevator and smiling to himself when he feels Steve’s arm drape itself over his shoulder.

Reading the article, he learns that asexuality, like homosexuality and bisexuality, is a sexual orientation. He finds that it’s a newer term that is slowly gaining acceptance, and he finds out that there’s an entire community filled with information on it and people who don’t find any attraction to others sexually.

He types into the search bar, “Asexuality visibility and education network,” which the article had mentioned. He clicks the first link, taking him to the ‘AVEN’ website. Scrolling down, he reads the words on the screen, fascinated.

Steve leads him to their living room, pulling him down to the sofa cushions and cuddling with him while he turns on a random Disney movie. Bucky continues to read.

He reads a part that discusses that when we are young, we learn how life is meant to be. The words explain that we will be told rules that we are meant to follow and we will try to follow them despite how we actually feel about it. It discusses the fact that we want to follow the rules of life, even though those aren’t actual rules.

The words sink into his mind, and he turns them over mentally as he stares at the “Continue Reading” button. This section is titled “Asexual Perspectives,” and he can’t help but resonate with that one paragraph.

He’d been told for years that love means sex. And he’d tried to want sex. He’d even attempted thinking about other, not-Steve, people to try to get himself turned on, but nothing worked. But he tried to follow those rules that he was told he must adhere to.

Tapping the button, he gets nervous. He’s not sure why, but he feels as though this might change his life completely, even though he’s already decided that he’s simply got HSDD and he’s going to fix it.

The person discusses how they discovered they were lesbian, how they knew they would want a relationship with someone of the same sex, but how they never thought about having sex with people. She discusses how it felt when she noticed that one day she would find a relationship, and that person would want and expect sex, but she wouldn’t be willing to deliver.

Bucky feels something twist inside him, the words resonating with him on a level he never knew they could. This person went through the exact same thing he did. He isn’t the only person who feels this way.

Intrigued, he continues to sift through the website, reading forums and even a page dedicated to explaining asexuality. His eyes are filled with tears by the time he’s done, but he hides it by burying his face in the nape of Steve’s neck.

How could those people understand what he feels so easily without even meaning to? How could those people _feel_ what he feels?

“Buck, you alright?” Steve asks him patiently, carding his fingers through his brunette hair placatingly while Bucky sniffles against his neck.

“I’m ok,” he assures quietly against Steve’s skin, and he knows that Steve doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t push.

Bucky’s grateful for that. So many people would force him to talk about it if they were here, would make him talk to them. But Steve is…

He’s Steve.

He’s calm, and patient, and he’s always more than happy to allow Bucky to sit and think for as long as he needs without interfering.

“I love you. So much,” Bucky tells him, wraps his arms around Steve’s waist with a content sigh, and plants a gentle kiss against the pale skin of his neck.

“I love you, too, baby. Even when you’re telling me you don’t love me just ‘cause you don’t want sex,” he jokes, and Bucky gives a small chuckle.

They sit silently now, the sound of Moana singing in the background and the feeling of each other warming their bodies. Bucky tries to relax, to melt into the touch like always, but he can’t help but think. Think about whether he has HSDD or if he’s asexual. Think about if HSDD is even real or if it’s just another fake mental illness to dictate how people feel.

He remembers reading about how homosexuality was considered a mental illness for a while, too. Maybe that’s what’s going on with asexuality, and all these people who have HSDD really just haven’t been told that there’s a word for it, that it isn’t wrong.

That’s exactly what’s happening, isn’t it? People are being told they’re sick for something that is completely natural. HSDD isn’t real, it’s just a term that they’ve placed on something that they don’t understand so that they could pretend to understand it.

He suddenly feels sick as he realizes it. Bile is in his throat and his mouth is filled with cotton, because HSDD is bullshit. It’s bullshit, and he’s not going to be fixed, because he has a version of the serum, and so if he was broken in the first place, he would’ve been fixed already.

There’s nothing to fix, because he was never broken. Just like with his love for Steve, it isn’t wrong. It isn’t something to be fixed. If it was, then it would have been fixed when he was lying on that table in Austria, thirty miles behind enemy lines and strapped down in a dingy room.

HSDD is just a word people use to control people. Same as with homosexuality. Same as with everything, people don’t understand something, so they want to change it, so they put a label on it like a pretty bow on a Christmas present.

He’s not going to be fixed by a therapist who wants to cure his HSDD, because that’s not a thing. Asexuality is the name for it, and they don’t like that. They even said that HSDD is only possible if someone doesn’t say they’re asexual. They even said HSDD is the exact same thing as asexuality but with a dirtier label and a false promise to _fix you_. Like a broken toy.

“Steve?” Bucky asks before he can stop himself. Steve hums, encouraging him to say what he wants to say. “It’s not HSDD,” he states matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean, Buck?” Steve responds, pushing him gently so he’s sitting up.

“I have the serum,” he explains, as if that helps erase the confusion in Steve’s face. When the expression remains, he sighs. “There’s this thing. I read about it. It’s called asexuality. It’s a sexual orientation, like homosexuality and bisexuality.” The words fill the air, and after Steve looks like he’s contemplated it a bit, he goes on, “I think that HSDD is bullshit.”

Steve chuckles, eyes glimmering with amusement and smile showing teeth. “What’s that even mean, Buck?”

“Remember how they said it’s a mental illness if you’re homosexual? That they could _fix you_? I think, maybe, they’re doin’ that with asexuality too. HSDD is just the name they put on it so they could make you think you’re broken,” he says nervously, watching carefully to gauge Steve’s reaction.

He watches as Steve first goes to shock, then back to confusion, then to a sort of understanding. “Tell me about asexuality,” he suggests tenderly, obviously intrigued.

“Um, well, I don’t know how to explain it well. I read a ton about it, though. Basically, it means you don’t see folks like that. You don’t sexually want people. But you can love people still. You can want the cuddles and the flirting and the kissing and the hugging and a whole romantic relationship, but without sex,” he elucidates.

“So it’s the same thing as HSDD?” Steve wonders aloud, and Bucky nods.

“But the thing is, I don’t think HSDD is real. I mean, if it was, I wouldn’t have it. I have the serum. It’s not as strong as yours, but it’s still the serum. It still fixed all the issues I had. It didn’t fix me loving you, ‘cause that ain’t something that needs to be fixed. So it didn’t fix my HSDD, ‘cause that doesn’t need to be fixed either. Because it isn’t a disorder. It’s a sexuality.”

Steve stares at him for a moment, thinking. It makes his skin crawl and his smile falls slowly. “Is-is that ok?” he asks, voice suddenly small as he realizes that Steve may not be as happy about the news as he is.

Bucky’s elated, because this means there’s nothing wrong with him, and people understand. But Steve? Maybe he won’t be happy. Maybe he was expecting to be able to fix Bucky. Maybe he wanted Bucky to get better.

Suddenly, he wants to crawl in a hole and hide. He feels like he’s made a mistake, like he should never have said a word about it. He should have gone to the therapist and let her try to fix him, even though he knows she can’t. This whole day has been a series of mistakes so far, he notices, and he wants to undo it all.

“I don’t know, Buck. Is it?” Steve asks. There’s not malice behind the words, no venom like Bucky expected. Just pure curiosity, and somehow that’s even worse.

“I mean, I don’t know.”

And it’s true, he doesn’t know. At first he thought this was more than ok. He was reading those forums and crying, for God’s sake. But now? Now he’s feeling realization set in. It’s like reading it all online was the calm before the storm, but now there’s thunder and lightning and rain and wind and he can’t even stand straight.

“How about I research it, so I know a bit more about it? Then we can talk about it and it’ll be easier,” Steve offers, and Bucky just nods lamely, not knowing if he even wants Steve to look into it.

He doesn’t think he does, because then Steve would see that Bucky’s gonna be like this forever. He’s never gonna want sex. And then, Bucky thinks Steve may leave. Because if there’s no sex, most folks don’t wanna stick around. He’s learned that from observing, too.

If someone’s partner doesn’t want to provide the sexual pleasure that they want for too long, then they leave. So if the person knows that they’ll never get that? It’s not unlikely that they won’t want to stay.

Bucky sits wordlessly as Steve types away on his phone, eyes scanning page after page. He feels his human hand shaking and he knows Steve notices it, too, because he suddenly feels Steve’s hand tracing patterns across his bicep. His eyes drift shut while he waits for the inevitable.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, Steve turns his phone off and tosses it to the chair, kissing Bucky’s head and holding his lips there. Bucky’s not sure why Steve’s reacting by kissing him, but he won’t argue. He likes this way more than the scenarios he was envisioning.

“I understand, Buck,” Steve mutters against his skin, and he shivers at the feeling. “It’s ok,” he assures him, and Bucky feels his whole world spinning.

“It is?” he finds himself asking with a shaking voice, lip quivering as he looks up at his boyfriend. Steve pulls away, leaning their brows together and giving him a loving smile as he speaks.

“It is,” he echoes.

Bucky isn’t sure how he looks, but he’s pretty certain that it’s an embarrassing look. His cheeks are warm with a pink tint, his grin so big it physically hurts, his eyes shut. He’s relieved, and he’s so, so in love.

“I can’t be fixed,” Bucky points out, and Steve simply laughs, breath hot on Bucky’s face.

“Nothing _to_ fix. I love you how you are, whether you want sex or not,” Steve replies, and Bucky would be lying if he said he didn’t melt right then and there. His whole body convulses with the feeling of sheer adoration and rapture, his mind fogging over with bliss and with _Steve_.

“But,” Steve says, and normally Bucky would be terrified at that addition, but he can hear the pure humor in his boyfriend’s voice. He’s joking. “No more of this ‘I don’t love you’ bullshit.”

Bucky gives a wet chuckle, the tears threatening to fall out as he smiles. “I’m sorry,” he says again, but Steve simply wraps his arms around his waist.

“You know, some of the things I read were from people who felt the same way. They thought they couldn’t _possibly_ be in love, ‘cause they didn’t want sex. ‘Course, none of those folks expressed that before doin’ their research. But I get it now,” Steve reassures him softly.

“God, I love you,” Bucky says before pressing a searing kiss to Steve’s lips.

He’s never gonna let go of this. Because he may not be as human as before, and he may not have all his memories, but he’s sure of one thing.

He will love Steven Grant Rogers until the day he dies, and for a hell of a long time after that, too.

‘Til the end of the line, and even longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)


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